


pride and other foreign concepts

by ava_kay



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Fluff, M/M, NYC, NYC Pride, New York, Newt and Minho are best friends, Pride, newtmas - Freeform, pride march, side of benho and breneresa, thomas shows newt around nyc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:52:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_kay/pseuds/ava_kay
Summary: Newt and his best friend Minho take on the NYC pride march, despite pride being something Newt has always struggled with himself. But when he meets Thomas, a seemingly outgoing boy who’s keen on showing Newt around the city, maybe the concept of pride won’t look so scary after all.





	pride and other foreign concepts

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone had a great pride month! The NYC pride march was absolutely incredible, and I couldn’t not put my favorite boys there. Hope you enjoy. Be proud. Be you. :)

There are a lot of really cute boys reading books on the subway. Of course, it took Minho and me a thousand years to figure out how the subways _work,_ but now that we managed to figure it out and successfully annoy ten people by asking where the trains go, it’s what I notice.

One boy in particular must sense me staring and looks up, meeting my eyes. His are blue, and he’s got these great cheekbones. Maybe I’d smile if I wasn’t so embarrassed of my existence. But, since I am, I look away quickly, back at Minho.

“You gonna talk to him?” he asks a little too loudly for my liking.

“Shut up,” I say, giving him a quick death glare, making him grin. I’m convinced he’s missing that part of your brain that makes you experience shame.

“Newt, we’ve been on the subway for six minutes and you’ve been staring at every moderately cute guy within sight the whole time. This is pride, talk to one of them!” Minho says, nudging me.

We’re standing in the subway, which is making me ridiculously dizzy. I’m holding onto the pole, my hand right above Minho’s. The difference is that I’m white-knuckling it, while Minho looks as if there’s no way the rattling of the subway car could ever possibly phase him.

“Maybe I would if you didn’t paint this obnoxious rainbow on my cheek,” I say. I wasn’t about the face paint. I was just going to go with a simple rainbow bandana and a white pride t-shirt Minho bought me when he announced that we’d be going. But no, he insisted, and it was the only way to get him to shut up.

“What? That’s more reason to go! It explains your intentions,” Minho says.

“Maybe I don’t want my intentions explained,” I say.

“You’re adorable, thinking you’ve got any say in this,” Minho says. I frown, and before I can ask him what he’s talking about, he unlatches my hand from the pole and I stumble back into the legs of some poor woman sitting with her dog.

I attempt to steady myself and apologize, when I realize I’ve also stopped right next to the reading boy from before.

He’s looking at me with a blank stare, and my face heats up so quickly that I’m convinced it’ll melt the paint off. “Sorry,” I say lamely. He just keeps looking. “I, ehm… hi.”

“Hey,” he says. I can feel his eyes on the rainbow. Crap.

I look down at his book and think I recognize it from browsing at a bookstore called The Strand earlier. “That book, is it any—”

“Listen, man, I appreciate it, but I’m not…” the boy trails off, then nods his head side to side, his expression guarded.

Is it possible for your heart to fall through your stomach to somewhere deeper? I go pale, a deep shame spreading through me. _Shit, don’t cry, Newt._ “Y-yeah, no, I was just—I was just gonna ask about your book. No, nothing like—sorry.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m already walking back towards Minho, who looks mortified. He goes to speak too, but I pass him and go to the next pole further away and stop there, holding onto it with three strangers who don’t glance in my direction.

I take my phone out and pretend to be busy while blinking away tears. One escapes and slides down my face—the cheek with the rainbow—and none of the people around me seem to notice or care, which I’m grateful for.

This whole trip is stupid. Minho’s lucky I passed him, because I don’t trust myself not to punch him in the gut right now. My stomach is churning, and it’s not just the motion sickness. In general, I’m ashamed for even being a person, but that was…

I close my eyes tightly. I’m not even out to most people, why did I think pride would be a good idea? I want to take off this damn outfit and go back home. Minho can have his fun. I bet nobody would talk to him like that. Would he even care?

Eventually, there’s a tap on my shoulder after a shaky and abrupt stop. “Newt? This is us.” It’s Minho, and his voice is small.

I don’t speak as I turn to follow, because as mad as I am, I don’t want to spend one more moment on this god forsaken subway. We pile out and onto a huge platform, and all I want is fresh air, so I begin walking to the first set of stairs in sight after a turnstyle.

“Talk to me, Newt. Come on,” Minho says, keeping up with me without any problem because he’s a stupid bloody athlete and of course he can.

Still ignoring him, I climb the stairs. It’s great, but it only leads to another floor of not outside. I groan, looking around. The signs mean nothing to me.

“Please? I had no idea that dude would be an asshole. I’m sorry, alright?” Minho is saying, but I’m only looking for something resembling stairs. Or an elevator. I’ve done so much walking, my calves and thighs are killing me. Particularly my right leg. When will that _ever_ heal?

My heart begins to hurt. I feel it physically pour into my body, and flood my senses. Minho won’t stop talking, my mind won’t stop replaying that interaction on the subway, every rainbow accessory that was forced onto me seems to burn on my skin, and where the hell can I find an exit?

I can’t explain what makes me start walking forward, but I can explain what catches my eye. A boy, probably around my age, stands by a wall, looking at his phone. But the thing that makes me go over, is that he’s wearing rainbow socks, and a pink, purple, and blue tie. If that wasn’t enough, he’s literally got the word “pride” written across his forehead.

Wiping away my tears, I approach him, Minho falling silent beside me. “Excuse me?”

The boy looks up, somewhat surprised, then brings his hand up to tap his airpods. I feel bad for having interrupted his music, and would probably walk away if his expression didn’t melt into a smile. “Sorry, yeah?”

He’s much cuter than that boy on the subway. His brown eyes shine and he’s got little moles littering the side of his face like a constellation. He’s wearing a tank top, so I can see he’s toned, too. _Stop staring._ “Ah, I’m just… we’re sort of lost.”

The boy nods, letting out a laugh. “First time in the city?” I nod. “I get it. I’m only just getting used to it myself. Let me guess—pride?”

I find myself smiling, and extra self conscious about how red my eyes must be.

“What was your first clue?” Minho says. I momentarily forgot he was here.

The boy laughs again. “I’m headed there too, I was just waiting on my friend and her girlfriend to meet me here. If you keep walking down there, to the right, there’ll be a staircase. It looks sketchy, but it lets you out by Madison Square Park, promise.”

“Thank you,” I say, nodding.

“Any time,” the boy says. “Happy pride!”

“Happy pride,” I say, suddenly feeling better about my ensemble. A little validation goes a long way, apparently.

I don’t want to take up anymore of his time, so I continue on down the hall, trying to occupy my brain with that experience rather than my earlier one.

“Dude, you should have gotten his name,” Minho says.

“I’m still mad at you, and absolutely not taking your advice anymore,” I say, looking for the staircase.

“It was one mistake. I’m still the smartest, and when you get a boyfriend, I promise it’ll be my doing,” Minho says. He’s got the pan flag painted down the right side of his face, looking like its dripping down his cheek. Minho is artistic that way.

“I’ll be holding it against you for the rest of your life,” I say. He knows I can keep a grudge.

We find the staircase and I trudge up it, Minho climbing up in front and stopping, successfully blocking me. “In the spirit of pride, can we call a truce?”

I sigh. The embarrassment hasn’t worn off, although that boy helped a little. “I’ll see how I feel.”

“At least talk to me?” Minho says.

“Fine. But only because you know where we’re going,” I say. Minho lights up.

“Close enough. Follow me.”

He’s got family in the city, so he knows a little, but I’ve only been here twice in my life. We continue on up the stairs, and as soon as I get out, I see trees, surrounded by cars, bikes, people, and buildings. “So where are we going?”

Minho points at the trees literally right beside us. “There.”

I glare at him. “So much for needing to follow you.”

“Knowing you, you still would have gotten lost,” Minho says, earning a jab in the arm from my elbow.

I’m pushed past by someone on the stairs, so I quickly speed up towards the park. It’s filled to the brim with people. I wonder how a city can even fit this many bodies in such a small area. Manhattan isn’t _that_ big. In fact, it’s an island, isn’t it? How is it not sinking under all this weight?

Pushing the obviously dumb thought aside, I look up at the trees. It’s a strange juxtaposition, a park in a city like this. Tall, shiny buildings and one area of nature. An area that’s littered with pride flags right about now.

Minho finds our group’s meeting area while I stare. All sorts of flags are being waved, and everyone seems to be smiling. There’s couples holding hands, girls and guys with no shirts on—including a man in only a rainbow speedo that makes me blush and look away—and even just kids with pride t-shirts on. It makes me smile.

We make our way over to our group in the middle of a crowded street, which is basically just a contingent Minho found online so we don’t really know anyone. But they’re extremely kind. The woman with the pink hair running it gives us each t-shirts and tiny flags, then tells us where to go for when we start marching.

“Twenty bucks says I make out with a guy before the day is over,” Minho says.

I grimace. “Why would I bet against something I know will happen?”

“Ah, so you believe in me,” Minho says with a grin. “It can be you, if you want.”

I actually do let out a laugh at that one. It’s sort of an inside joke. My parents refuse to believe Minho and I aren’t together, because we dorm together and we both happen to like men. But so what? Minho’s like a brother to me. Maybe when we met I thought he was cute, but now he’s just… Minho. “You want the twenty _that_ badly?”

Minho winks at me, then looks down at his phone. The march is going to start fairly soon, and the people keep flooding in. I wonder how far they’re traveling for this? It’s worth it, I think. To be able to feel accepted and celebrated in such a big group like this. And to show that we’re here. Still here, and still fighting.

“What’re you thinking about? The subway still?” Minho asks.

And still facing uncomfortable moments like those. “Actually, I’d just stopped, but thanks.”

Minho’s face drops. “Sorry, dude. Wanna hit me?”

“Not right now, but ask again later,” I say, rolling my eyes. I still feel so uncomfortable in my own skin, but seeing everyone else out here like this… maybe it’ll help.

The march begins, but we have to wait another exhausting two hours to step off. Not that I mind after a while. There are floats and cameras and chanting and big signs and I’m overwhelmed at first, but the energy is contagious. Groups all merge and break, and we wind up marching alongside all sorts of people. It’s a long walk, and it’s hot as hell outside, but I don’t find myself caring. We turn right after a while, and the crowd shifts, and my breath gets caught in my chest.

It’s the weirdest thing, getting the wind knocked out of you by something so ridiculous. My heart actually physically aches once it restarts. Of course he’d be here.

The boy from the station before, the one with pride written across his forehead. He’s marching next to two girls that are holding hands, and when I say he’s marching, I mean he’s doing an over-exaggerated march like some kind of toy soldier. It sparks a laugh from me, and Minho looks over.

“Cute subway station boy!” he says loudly. “Let’s go say hi.”

“No way, he’s with his friends,” I say, still watching as he cracks up at something.

“And now, he’ll be with more. Come on,” Minho says, grabbing my arm. I start to give in before I remember the last time he shoved me into an awkward situation.

I stop short. “No, Minho. Seriously,” I say, my face dropping. I know he won’t judge me for being gay, but who knows what could happen? I’m not putting myself even slightly out there again today. Not anymore than I already am.

Minho looks like he’s going to protest, but stops himself. “Fine. Fine. Let’s keep going.”

“Thank you,” I say pointedly.

We keep marching on, and I still feel that thing in my chest. Shock is a funny thing. As much as I try to forget and ignore it, that feeling doesn’t go away.

There are stands set up with merchandise, water, informational pamphlets, and various other things. A huge sign that says ‘DON’T FORGET STONEWALL’ accidentally smacks me in the back of the head, reminding me to, well, not forget Stonewall. The riots that got us here in the first place.

When we pass Stonewall itself, it really hits me that there are easily thousands of spectators on either side of us. They’re behind barricades cheering, holding signs, blowing whistles, telling us to have a happy pride. It’s beautiful. I wish the people at Stonewall fifty years ago could have known back then what this exact place would look like today. The thought gives me chills.

It’s when we’re passing a huge float that Minho inevitably finds an interested guy. He introduces himself as Ben and tells Minho that he’s got a great ass and a better smile. Minho seems to find that flattering. It makes me regret ever telling him I thought he was cute. Talk about feeding an overstuffed ego.

So now, this Ben dude is marching with us. He’s got on about a thousand rainbow things. Well, except for his shirt, because he’s not wearing one. But his chest is painted.

The odd thing is, he seems to automatically be kind to us just because we’re obviously queer. I get a sense of pride for the community. How far have we come? And why am I so damned ashamed of myself sometimes?

I’m thinking about that when I feel the tap on my shoulder close to the end of the route. By now, Minho and Ben have already kissed several times, Ben even taking pictures of it. Minho asked me for twenty, as if I’d doubted him, and I shoved him in return.

I turn my head to tell whoever tapped me that it was an accident and I’m probably not who they were looking for, and what do you know? My jaw drops a little, the wind-knocking feeling returning.

“Hey,” he says. The subway station boy. He gives me the cutest lopsided smile, and I return it, falling back to walk next to him.

“Hi,” I say, lost for words.

“Enjoying pride?” he asks. Then, he looks over at Minho, who’s currently being fondled by Ben. His eyebrows raise. “I see your friend is.”

I can’t help but laugh. “That might be an understatement. They only just met, too.”

“Impressive,” the boy says.

“Weren’t you marching with your friends?” I ask. Then, I inwardly cringe. Was that a creepy thing to remember?

He doesn’t seem to think so. “I am, but they’re pretty caught up in each other at the moment,” he says, shrugging. “I’m Thomas, by the way.”

“I’m Newt,” I say. Butterflies erupt in my stomach. I’ve only had two very short lived boyfriends, and I’m nineteen. One was online, the next was a boy from college. I come from a pretty small town, so I didn’t have many opportunities. Neither relationship saw the two week milestone. So, talking to a boy like this, at _pride,_ is still a relatively new and scary concept.

Not that I think anything will happen, of course.

“I’m assuming you’re not just an ally. But if you are, you’re a pretty freaking cool one for the rainbows and all,” Thomas says.

“No, no, not just an ally,” I say. “Gay. I’m gay.” God, why’s that so weird to say out loud still?

Thomas nods. “Bi,” he says, before laughing. “It’s like we’re trading professions or something. I’m not all about labels being important or anything. But it helps when avoiding awkward moments.”

“I get that,” I say. “Like we should all be wearing little name tags with our sexuality.” It would have helped me before.

Thomas laughs again, and I enjoy the sound. His nose scrunches up, too. “Are you going to the event after this?”

“There’s an event after this?” I ask.

“I’ll take that as a no. I’m not going either. They keep ticketing all these things. So I’ll probably just walk around for a while. I’m going to do my own personal walking tour of all the rainbow buildings,” Thomas says.

“Rainbow buildings?” I ask.

“They have a ton of shit lit up for pride. I kinda love it,” Thomas says. “I mean, down with corporate pride, of course, but imagine all of that fifty years ago? It was unheard of. Now, it’s just nice to see, y’know?”

“I agree. Most places would never have a thing like this,” I say. Thomas seems relieved to hear it.

“Right? So it’s special to me. Not that those corporations don’t suck,” Thomas says quickly.

I laugh. “I know. But I’m liking today. I appreciate it,” I say.

“So am I. Sucks that it’s almost over. The march, and the month,” Thomas says. I nod. “You’re new to NYC, right?”

“I am,” I say.

“I’m kinda new too. I go to college here, though. I’m trying to soak it all in before I go back home until school starts back up again. Have you gotten the chance to sightsee?” Thomas asks.

“Not exactly,” I say. “I’d like to, though.”

“Well, do you like walking?” Thomas asks.

I laugh, then I realize it’s a genuine question. “I do,” I lie.

His face lights up further somehow. “If you wanted to, I could show you around a little. Only if you’d be into that, of course. I’m not, like, a killer or anything. That probably sounded suspicious. But I swear. Your friend could come? I just—”

“Tommy,” I cut him off, actually giggling. He stops mid-sentence, the worry melting from his expression. I had no follow up. Here’s this extremely cute boy, standing here at pride, offering to show me around? My instincts say run. Decline, go home, keep being uncomfortable with myself. But as I look at him, and my head starts shaking ‘no’ involuntarily, I find myself saying, “I think I’d really like that.”

“Really? I don’t think Teresa and Brenda are going to want to do much with me tonight, seeing as they’re kinda…” he trails off.

“I have the same feeling about Minho,” I say, looking over to where Minho is. Surprisingly, he’s noticed I’m gone. He gives me a wicked smile, then winks and wiggles his eyebrows. My face goes red.

“So, after this? We can kinda explore? I won’t take you to any bad parts, I swear,” Thomas says.

Even his _voice_ is pretty. And those eyelashes? Who has eyelashes like that? Definitely not me. “Sounds perfect.”

“Fantastic,” Thomas says, smiling shyly now.

Now that we’re at the end of the march, everyone is encouraged to keep walking, and there’s pretty much no way to go anywhere but forward. Minho comes back, and there’s so much commotion that it’s not awkward with Thomas.

“Hey you two,” Minho says, grinning. “What’s up?”

“Thomas is gonna show me around, if you wanna come along?” I say, Thomas nodding.

“Perfect. Ben here is taking me out for drinks,” Minho says, looking back at Ben, who’s on his phone.

“You’re twenty,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Minho.

“Noted,” Minho says. “Have fun. And text me, sweetie. Let me know how you are.”

My face burns further, and I glare at him. “Be careful.”

“Will do, munchkin,” he says, before looking at Thomas. “Take care of that one. He’s clumsy. Stay away from busy streets.”

“There are _only_ busy streets, but I’ll keep him safe, I promise,” Thomas says, chuckling.

Minho laughs along. “I like you. You’ll do,” are his last words to us before going back to Ben.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry about him.”

“He’s funny,” Thomas says.

“Very. He’s the talkative one,” I say, following Thomas as he walks through the crowd.

“Which one are you, then?” Thomas asks. Not in an accusatory way, but in a curious way that makes my stomach flip.

“The quiet one that’s bad at making friends,” I say. Thomas looks back at me and his face softens.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says. “I know how you feel, though. My friends Teresa and Brenda are very… outgoing. I kinda take a backseat to them.”

“Exactly!” I say. Nobody ever gets what I mean by that. “He’s got a big personality.”

“Yeah! So I become more quiet. But you’re doing great right now,” Thomas says.

My chest needs to stop with this whole aching thing. I smile. “You’re doing great too.”

We’re literally going _through_ the massive crowd, for some reason. I don’t know where we are, really. But Thomas seems to. We keep getting separated by people, and it reminds me of how much I hate crowds. Someone bangs into my leg, and I wince, trying to breathe. That hurt like hell.

Suddenly, someone’s holding my hand. I’m shocked, and almost go to instinctively pull it away, but I see it’s Thomas. “Just so I don’t lose you,” he says loudly, talking over the crowd. “That alright?”

I nod. Now that we’re holding hands, it’s like the crowd parts for us. We get a few pointed smiles too. It makes me self conscious. Especially because I’m worried my hand is sweating. His is perfect. That’s always the case, isn’t it? Why am I the weird one?

But he doesn’t seem to be thinking about that. He turns left at some point, and we go down that block. It’s still pretty packed. “Is it always this crowded?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “These parts usually are a bit busy, but not like this. At least it’s with good people.”

We get to the end of the block, then Thomas turns right, heading back up. There’s no more crowd, but he’s still holding my hand. I look down at our hands, and I stare at them. Should I let go? I loosen my grip just slightly, to make sure I’m not the one holding on.

“Oh, sorry,” Thomas says, looking down at our hands. I look up at him wide-eyed, and he starts loosening his grip, but I shake my head.

“No, you’re okay. I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, but—” I cut myself off, taking a deep breath as I watch Thomas’ smile widen and his hand grips mine firmly.

“I can keep you safe easier this way, anyway,” he says, before continuing on as if he hadn’t just said something devastatingly cute.

To keep from embarrassing myself with an attempt at a cute comeback, I ask a question. “Where are we headed first?”

“You’ll see. You say you haven’t done _any_ sightseeing yet?” Thomas says, adjusting his grip on my hand. The blocks are going by quickly, and Thomas is a fast walker. He has to press up against me at one point to prevent getting separated, and my heart jumps to my throat.

“No, none,” I say, ignoring the contact.

“This is so exciting. It makes me feel experienced,” Thomas says. “I’m generally pretty lost, but after nearly a year, I think I’ve got the hang of Midtown.”

“That’s good to hear,” I joke, making Thomas laugh.

“So, where are you from?” Thomas asks.

“Um, I moved to the states when I was sixteen. So now I live in Florida. I go to school there,” I say. Thomas stops in his tracks, looking at me and making me stop too. I’m not sure if my leg is grateful for it, or if it hurts me more.

“No freaking way do you live in Florida,” Thomas says.

I furrow my eyebrows. “Yeah, why?”

“That’s where my family is from,” Thomas says. “Not a cool part of Florida, though. It’s kind of a trashy part.”

“We live in a pretty trashy part too, but at least the weather is awful,” I say. Thomas laughs and continues walking. Does he seriously live in my state?

“I’m about an hour away from Orlando. Well, when I’m not here. I like it here, the songs don’t lie, y’know?” Thomas says. I could listen to him talk all day, I’m quickly realizing. “There’s just something about it. I feel more accepted here. Less… alone.”

_There’s_ a concept. Not to say that I don’t like it at home. But, well, the thought of not being in that box is nice. “I feel like you can be someone different here,” I say, voicing my thoughts. Thomas tilts his head, so I scramble to clarify. “Not _different,_ but someone new. Like yourself. Just not the version everyone else at home knows. Does that make sense?”

Thomas squeezes my hand. This stranger is smiling at me like I just revealed the secrets of the universe and squeezing my hand. This beautiful stranger. My chest tightens. “It makes _too_ much sense. You put it into words,” he says.

The overwhelming feeling I get distracts from my leg burning like a threat of some sort. I just hope it doesn’t give out. “I get the appeal of New York. Not that I’ve seen it too much yet, but just from the march, I can tell.”

“It’s kinda electric, isn’t it? Aside from, y’know, the occasional guy running after you for no particular reason,” Thomas says.

My jaw drops, and he laughs. “Does that happen?”

“No. Sometimes. Well, I’m yelled at a lot, but so is everyone. I’m still here, right?” Thomas says, shrugging.

All of these blocks are kind of blending together. The buildings are tall, but they’re not by any means skyscrapers. There are laundromats, pizza places, cafes, shops, you name it. The numbers on the signs are going up, and we make a right and end up back on seventh avenue. Not that that makes a difference to me.

To our left, I suddenly start to recognize things. “Hey, is that Penn?”

“It is!” Thomas says excitedly, looking up. “Already getting the hang of things.”

I laugh because the building clearly states that it’s Pennsylvania Station, but accept the praise. There’s a sudden nagging to check where Minho is. Should I have split from him with a guy I don’t know from a hole in the wall?

The buildings are starting to look taller and more industrial, and there are pride flags _everywhere._ Even the little red line in the logo of this bank has been changed to a rainbow. And, of course, there are the people that were here for pride.

Taking in the sights around me is enough to distract me for a few minutes, but eventually, my leg starts to bother me more. I keep my mouth shut, even though half of me wants to ruin this. To tell him I’ve got an injury. Go on without me. _What’s wrong with me?_

“You alright?” Thomas asks, looking over at me. I must carry my pain on my face.

_This is your opening._ I smile. “Just not used to the amount of walking. I’m fine.”

“You’re sure? We could totally take a subway. Or I could take you back to wherever you want to go. Or I could get you food? Are you dehydrated? Hungry?” Thomas asks. Not in an annoying way. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

I find myself laughing at the rapidness of his questions. Should I be giving up now? “How close are we?” I ask, instead of giving an answer.

“Five blocks?” Thomas says in the form of a question. “It’s totally okay. Really. If you want to—”

“Let’s keep going,” I say. Thomas looks at me like he’s giving me the opportunity to change my mind before he speaks. His eyes are a pretty golden color in this lighting. “Really. I’m alright.”

“It’ll be worth it, I swear,” Thomas says. We keep walking and I try to make sure I’m not putting so much pressure on my right leg. “So, how old are you?”

“Nineteen,” I say.

“Same here. It’s weird. I feel like I’m half-adult. Shit, I’m talking a lot. I’m sorry. I get nervous around—around new people. People in general,” Thomas says as we arrive at a street corner.

He’s adorable. There’s no denying that. “Tommy, relax, you’re doing great,” I say, because he’s doing a lot better than I am and his voice is entrancing.

He breaks into a smile, and I go to keep walking, but he grabs me and pushes me back. Before I can even register it, a car is zipping past us.

We just stand there for a moment afterwards, once the car has passed, the color drained from both of our faces. “Fuck, are you okay?” Thomas asks, still holding onto me. His hand is still in mine, but the other arm is crossed over my chest, making us awfully close.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to get it through my head how close that was. What if Thomas wasn’t there? “Thank you. That was—”

“Close,” Thomas says, stepping back as everyone else walks past like nothing happened. “Yeah, not letting you out of my sight.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” I agree. Minho was right.

“It takes a while to get used to the flow of traffic. You always have to be aware,” Thomas says. His grip on my hand is tight.

“I’m sorry,” I say, still dazed.

“What’re _you_ sorry for? That guy was driving like an asshole. C’mon,” Thomas says, continuing. My heart thumps on in my chest.

“Maybe I’m not smart enough for New York,” I say, now extremely aware of the cars, even on the sidewalk. Traffic was stopped where we were before, but now that it’s not, paying attention isn’t a bad idea.

“That’s not true,” Thomas says, shaking his head. “Just stick to the rules. Look both ways, obey the lights. And it doesn’t hurt to walk in a herd of people. If everyone else is going, it’s usually safe. But I’ll be your eyes for now.”

That makes me smile as we continue going up the blocks. Thomas is starting to move faster now, and his excitement is contagious.

“Starting to look prettier yet?” Thomas asks.

“It all looks pretty to me,” I say. But after a minute, I see what he means. It’s like night and day. Not only the prettiness, but the brightness, too. The sun is starting to set, but it feels like full daylight now. My jaw drops. “Holy shit.”

“Welcome to Times Square,” Thomas says. I can hear the smile in his voice, then see it when I look at him, the light reflecting in his eyes in a way that makes his whole face appear lit up.

He catches me staring and my cheeks start burning, making me look back at the view around me. There are super tall buildings, gigantic screens with videos or advertisements on them, dozens of stores that are a lot bigger than any I may have at home, and a ton of people. And, well, a ton of corporate pride.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, sort of lost for words.

“Have you ever had street meat?” Thomas asks.

“Do I want to know what that is?” I ask, frowning.

Thomas simply laughs and leads me forward. The streets are stunning, and every time I turn, there’s something new to look at. It’s a lot easier to walk here too, not so stop and go. There are broadway shows I’ve seen the commercials for, busy restaurants, and a gaggle of drag queens scooting their way around us.

“New York has it all,” Thomas says, giving them a friendly smile.

“I can’t argue that one,” I say. We come up to a cart that absolutely screams food poisoning to me. It’s got little pictures off a bunch of foods that look like they’re from a restaurant, but the truck itself is the size of my bathroom at home.

“Anything look good? I recommend the chicken kebab,” Thomas says.

“You trust this stuff?” I ask.

“Of course I do! But alright, if you don’t like this, I’ve got another idea. Let’s go.”

That other idea is about ten minutes of walking, then coming up on a smaller corner building with a red overhang.

“Isn’t that…”

“The Cake Boss guy’s bakery? Absolutely,” Thomas says, opening the door for me.

There’s quite a line, but we get on it anyway.

“This looks a lot more trustworthy,” I say.

“Am I right for pegging you as a sweets kind of guy?” Thomas asks.

“Definitely,” I say, gazing at all of the options.

“I know just what we’re getting.”

One split piece of beautiful, sugary rainbow cake later, we set off again.

“Where to?” I ask.

“Newt,” Thomas says, taking my hand once again. “I’m showing you _everything_.”

  
  
  


“I think it’s safe to say we’ve checked some things off, right?” Thomas asks.

“You’ve shown me about a dozen rainbow buildings including the Empire State Building, Times Square, Rockefeller Center, and… well, all of Midtown.”

“You’re learning more names! Okay, for this last bit, we’re going to have to take a subway. Is that alright? I’ll pay,” Thomas says.

“Subway sounds good.” My leg is about ready to fall off. At this point, I wish it actually would. Maybe that’d hurt less. “But I can pay.”

“Don’t be silly.”

We keep walking until we find a set of those ominous looking stairs leading into the ground that Thomas says is the subway station we need to go to. The stairs are even harder on my leg, and everyone is so quick and why the hell is it so hot down here?

“I’m not sure,” Thomas says when I ask him. “Subways aren’t my favorite. I walk everywhere. But this happens to be one that’ll be necessary.”

Before I can ask how to pay, Thomas swipes his card in a turnstyle and ushers me through it. Then, he gasps, looking at something behind me. “One minute, we need to haul ass to catch it.”

And haul ass, we do. By some miracle, we manage to slip inside a subway car before the doors close, and I look around for a seat, but my efforts are fruitless.

“I’m sure a seat will open up. Hold on for now,” Thomas says, grabbing onto a pole. I hold in a sigh, talking to my leg in my head. _He’s really cute, alright? Can you not act up for just one day?_

The subway starts moving and I stumble, gripping the pole tighter. Thomas reaches out and grabs my arm.

“Forgot that this thing actually moves,” I say.

“I do it too, don’t worry,” Thomas says.

“Really? You seem so perfect, I can’t imagine you embarrassing yourself,” I say. Then, I realize how ridiculously flirty it sounds.

Thomas visibly blushes, confirming that he noticed too. “I wish that were true. I’m a klutz. I fall daily, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I say. Is that also flirty? I add a smile.

“Can I be honest about something?” Thomas asks.

“Did you lie and you actually _are_ a killer?” I ask.

Thomas snorts. “No, I just… this is the most fun I’ve had in months,” he says, turning a new shade of red as he sways with the subway.

“Even living in New York City?” I ask, a part of me melting.

He nods. “I love my friends and the city, don’t get me wrong, but for some reason—I don’t know. I’m just having a really good time,” he says. “And not just because it’s pride.”

“Can I be honest as well then?” I ask. Thomas nods again. “I feel the same way.”

Thomas grins, and I return the gesture.

  
  
  


“It’ll probably be packed, but I promise it’s worth it,” Thomas says.

We come out onto a pretty much empty street. “Is this what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s Wall Street, then yes,” Thomas says.

“Huh. I thought it’d look different,” I say. It’s pretty, but underwhelming. Just a bunch of old looking buildings.

“So did I. But that’s not what I wanted to show you,” Thomas says.

We walk down Wall Street, and come to a corner where the street to our left is called Water Street.

“Water Street? Who’s the genius behind that one?” I ask.

“Well, we’re by the water, so someone practical,” Thomas says, laughing and turning onto Water Street.

We eventually turn onto a road to our right and suddenly I have no clue where I am anymore.

It’s a beautiful short yet broad stone street, with small and vaguely nautical looking buildings and lights everywhere, and a little open bar slash restaurant in the center of the path. My jaw goes slack.

“Don’t let anyone tell you Manhattan is all skyscrapers,” Thomas says, squeezing my hand. “This isn’t even it. Come on.”

He leads me down the path, and once again, I have to wonder what I’ve come across. We’re on a pier of sorts, but there’s a massive old-timey ship docked right beside us. Then next to it, a beautiful set up of lights—basically, big glowing sticks, some in different colors—that about a hundred people are standing next to, taking pictures.

“You know how we’d be bad visitors?” Thomas asks as I take it in.

“How?” I ask.

“If we didn’t take a picture in those lights,” Thomas says.

So, that’s how we wind up climbing the big steps leading to the display. It’s like a maze of lights, and there’s a couple kissing to our left, and a teenage girl taking a selfie to our right.

Thomas takes out his phone and taps on the selfie-taking teenage girl’s shoulder. “Hey, could you take a picture of us?”

She looks at us, then smiles. “Sure.”

Now is just the problem of how do I pose with Thomas? How do you even pose for a photo in general? I’m about to ask what I should do when Thomas puts his hand on the small of my back, moving my arm so that I can do the same to him. It comes almost naturally, and I smile at the camera as I feel Thomas’ hand move in a way that I think qualifies as rubbing.

After she takes it, she lowers the phone. “Want a cute one? Like a kissing one or something?”

My mouth goes dry as Thomas laughs. “No, we’re good, thank you.”

She hands him the phone as my stomach turns. “No problem. Happy pride!”

“Happy pride,” Thomas says, nodding to her. He puts his phone back in his pocket, and I think I’ve gone whiter than a ghost. “Let’s keep moving.”

I let him lead the way, and he drops down one of the stairs, then holds his hand out again to help me down. When I take it, I wonder if the girl is watching us. She thought we were dating. Or _something_ at least. She didn’t seem to judge. So why did that make me feel so… scared?

When I come down from the second step, I can’t stop myself from wincing as a shooting pain comes up from my foot to almost my hip, my eyes shutting tight. “Fucking hell,” I mutter.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Did something happen?” Thomas asks, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Sit down,” Thomas says.

“No, I’m fine, I just—it just has to pass. I’m alright,” I say between deep breaths. It doesn’t help much. When I open my eyes, Thomas looks mortified.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Old injury. It’s okay,” I say, shifting my weight onto my other foot.

“Oh man, what was it?” Thomas asks.

“Um, I played football as a kid,” I lie. “Had to stop after I got hurt, though.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry. I wish you told me, I wouldn’t have made you walk so much,” Thomas says.

I shake my head. “I try to ignore it. Don’t want to let it hold me back. Let’s go.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” I say.

“Wanna lean on me?” Thomas asks.

I smile. “I’m _fine._ I swear.”

He eyes me, but begins to walk forward anyway, however slowly. “We’ll be sitting soon anyway, hopefully.”

We walk through a gigantic almost wearhouse-like building, and on the other side is something like an extremely long deck with a bunch of benches, and something that makes my heart skip a beat.

It’s darker now, so the lights pop heavily against the sky. I see three bridges, one after another with miles between them, all lit up with lights and the cars littering them. More than that, I see hundreds of buildings, all glowing as well, one even rainbow in the distance. The light reflects off of the water, too, and the effect is so breathtaking I can’t even comprehend it.

“Over there is the Freedom Tower,” Thomas says, pointing to our left, “and to the right, is Brooklyn. In front of us, however, is one of the most beautiful views in the world.”

He leads me over to a bench and we sit down, my eyes still glued to what’s in front of me. The depth of it is unimaginable. “It’s so… alive,” I eventually say.

“I know what you mean,” Thomas says. “Sometimes I come here before a big test just to remind myself that there’s a whole world out there. That I’m just a part of a big, wonderful, moving machine. It’s good to slow down and appreciate it. Your place in it.”

I look at him now, only to find he’s been looking at me. The lights bounce off of his big eyes, and he’s absolutely gorgeous. His words resonate in my mind like a song that really gets you, and I can’t even bring myself out of my floored state long enough to give him a smile. “I love that,” I eventually manage.

He searches my face. “What happened there?” he asks. When I furrow my eyebrows, he reaches up to my face and traces down my cheek with his finger, sending chills up my spine. “There. Your rainbow.”

When he shows me on his phone, I see the streak going down the middle of it, making it all smudged and runny. “Oh. That,” I say. He puts his phone down and listens, waiting for more. “I may have cried earlier. Before pride.”

“I noticed at the station. Your eyes looked all puffy. What happened?” he asks. He likes that question a lot.

“I…” _What happened is that I was embarrassingly rejected by a boy on the subway after already having doubts about the concept of being proud to be gay in the first place, some of which being so bad that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to exist any longer._ “Something happened that made me a bit wary about pride. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. You can talk to me about it if you want?” Thomas asks.

I smile. “It just shook my confidence. Pride is a relatively new concept to me.”

“I get that, but listen,” Thomas says, turning even more to face me. “There’s no reason to feel any sort of shame for who you are. No matter what anyone says, there’s a reason pride today was so big. Everyone there, all those people cheering you on? They know that letting yourself experience love—the best thing in the world—is something that should be celebrated. Nobody can take it away from you.”

My whole body is almost frozen from his words. The throbbing of my leg fades in the background of the world, along with the lights and the water and the people around us.

“Tommy…”

“You can,” Thomas says, nodding. I almost ask what he means, but part of me is so sure that I don’t bother. We’ve both leaned in closer, and I’ve been staring at his lips for a solid twenty seconds now. No, there’s no doubt what he means. I’ve never been more confident in my life.

I close the distance and kiss Thomas, Thomas’ hand coming up to rest on my neck as I do so. Our noses brush and I get the wonderful sensation of Thomas’ eyelashes hitting my cheek when his eyes flutter closed, and at first I’m nervous but then it becomes this beautiful, rhythmic feeling, like we’re playing off of one another somehow.

When we have to pull away for breathing purposes, we’re both grinning, but Thomas’ smile is something soft that melts my heart and brain into a gooey, sappy, happy mess.

“I think I really like you,” I blurt out.

“I think I really like you too,” Thomas says.

“I think Minho owes me twenty dollars,” I say.

“Huh?”

I shake my head. “Mind if I kiss you again?”

Thomas smirks and kisses me once again, and the most wonderful realization strikes me.

I’m proud.


End file.
